One minute, my grandson was laughing joyfully, his face nearly buried beneath a towering mountain of whipped cream. The next, everything changed.

A man sitting at the table beside us clicked his tongue loudly and muttered something under his breath about “kids these days,” his eyes narrowing as he glanced our way.

Then the waitress approached us with a soft voice and a careful, polite smile. She asked if we would be “more comfortable” sitting outside instead.

What was supposed to be a small celebration after Ben’s visit to the dentist suddenly felt heavy with shame. It was as if an invisible shadow had fallen over our little table, stealing the warmth from the moment. “Did we do something wrong?” Ben whispered, his small shoulders curling inward, a crease of confusion and sadness crossing his face. “No, baby,” I said gently, reaching out to wipe a smudge from his nose. “Some people just don’t know how to be kind.” I began bundling him back into his thick, puffy coat, preparing to…